Winter morning poem

Maybe it is the romantic in me that makes me still fall in love with crisp winter mornings.

 

Winter moves swiftly,
sweet chill of death.
Nature’s crisp coma.
I breath cold air to
white-frost my lungs
and digress into gray.
Mornings in frigid air,
start my favorite days.

 

 

 

Cold, lovely, stark sky,
you and I, old friends,
you have come again
and brought summer’s
scorch to an end.